


The Blacksmith

by Steangine



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blacksmith - Freeform, Dragon Ichigo, Fantasy AU, M/M, There's Rukia as well and she's cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steangine/pseuds/Steangine
Summary: There was a cemetery of swords in the burning heart of the mountain, but the fairy tale didn't tell that.[GrimmIchi ; Fantasy AU ; Secret Santa]
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 116





	The Blacksmith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shapooda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shapooda/gifts).



> Merry Christmas! This is for you Shap, I hope you like it!

The blacksmith enclosed himself in the heart of the mountain, where the fire slept under a thick cover of snow. It was a story which traveled from mouth to mouth, village to village, until it reached Grimmjow’s ears. He tracked down the path of the story chanting about the metal-forging dragon who was told to nurture powerful weapons in the incandescent lava, a burning garden of death.

For a series of unfortunate circumstances, Grimmjow had no plan B and believing a fairy tale that blacksmiths loved to tell under the effect of alcohol turned out being the only path he could follow. So, after many years, Grimmjow walked again into the pure white snow. The freezing air entered his lungs, awakening long lost memories. When he was a child, he loved to jump and leap into the snow until his hands and feet got used to the scorching cold, and his mother went to fetch him back. His mother was one of the few people who treated him like a decent living being: she died in a war, some soldiers fucked her dead body, and Grimmjow made sure to fuck them all with a sword in their sleep.

The snow reached his waist when Grimmjow thought that he could for once just reason with his brain and not his pride and give up on that suicidal mission. His hands and feet became blocks of ice, and this time there was no warm soup to heat him up from the inside, nor a soft breast and a sweet lullaby to put him in a tranquil slumber. He had to find a shelter, or he was doomed to be preserved for eternity up near the top of a mountain where nobody dared to venture but only idiots like him. Maybe dying in a place which made him remember his longed childhood and sweet mother wasn’t so bad, if only the burning desire of revenge and destruction towards the one who lead him to his ruin wasn’t strong enough for him to resist the wind stinging him and the snow dragging him downer and downer.

“Hey you.”

A voice behind him. Grimmjow turned around and his sword hesitated the moment his eyes fell on the one who talked. His long hair was burning lava and he was only wearing a pair of trousers. He looked human, but there were scales on his skin and a pair of long horns twirled from his head.

“What are you doing here?” He made sign to follow him, and Grimmjow, before knowing, obeyed.

“Are you the blacksmith?”

“The bl–” The young man sighed. “Oh right, that’s how they call me down there. They told me at the village.”

_ Down there _ probably was the rest of the world. Appropriate words for someone who lived inside the top of the world.

“The villagers know about you?”

“I usually don’t go to the village looking like this.” A brief pause. “I wasn’t expecting to find someone. A storm is approaching.”

Grimmjow snorted a laugh. “Are you the savior of the lost souls?”

“No. I don’t like when humans die too close to my house, because Rukia brings them home.”

Grimmjow didn’t ask who Rukia was, nor questioned he could have just sent him away the very moment he spotted him. He felt he was no match for the blacksmith, at least not in his current condition: the young man was walking on the snow, and Grimmjow was hobbling in it, dragging himself behind him with the snow and wind hurting his eyes.

They entered a cave and the little light of the end of the day was gulped in the thick darkness. The young man’s skin throbbed of orangish creaks running along his skin. Grimmjow tailed him. The path was rough, filled with bumps pressing against Grimmjow’s feet – and the blacksmith could walk bare feet, as he strolled in the freezing cold in bare chest.

“Don’t tell me you want a sword?”

Grimmjow noticed he didn’t sound enthusiast. “I do.”

The blacksmith groaned. “Figures, I shouldn’t let my hopes go high… what’s your name?”

“Grimmjow. And you are?”

“Ichigo.”

None of them talked again. Grimmjow kept his distance, his right hand placed on the hilt of the sword, ready to defend and counterattack at any moment.

Then, a light as big as a head of a pin pierced through the black veil. It got bigger as they approached and, all of a sudden, a liquid warmth embraced Grimmjow: it felt like entering a bath and being enveloped in a cozy hug of heat.

The blacksmith lived in the heart of the mountain. The lava irradiated warm light, spreading in the cave through the creases in the dark stone; a pool of liquid fire bubbled lazily in front of Grimmjow’s eyes, so dense and beautiful that it seemed it was luring him to touch it and test how it felt under the fingers.

Grimmjow looked back at Ichigo. His figure gave the impression he was born from one of the rocks hiding a soul of fire.

“Alright then.” Ichigo walked down a small path, similar to stairs. “If you want your weapon, you must–”

He felt the air moving, raised one hand and caught the small sack thrown at him. Grimmjow was delighted at the surprised face the blacksmith made.

“This is…”

“Yes.” As the blacksmith stopped near the furnace carved into the rocks, Grimmjow took the heavy animal skin that prevented his freezing. “That’s part of me.” His left arm was missing, the empty sleeve bent and folded to the shoulder. “Or at least, the ashes I managed to gather.”

Even if his arm was no more there, sometimes, Grimmjow woke up in the middle of the night covered in cold sweat as the pain of his arm being cut and roasted in magic flames struck his nerves so hard, he could barely contain the pitiful sobs munching at his lips.

Ichigo opened the sack and Grimmjow held his breath. He poured the ashes on the open palm of his arm, and Grimmjow thought they would have scattered, but, as if attracted by the skin of the blacksmith, they piled up in a small mountain. Then Ichigo closed his hand and threw the ashes into the burning fire.

Tongues of fire devoured what remained of Grimmjow’s arms, alive and greedy of human flesh. Orangish snakes coiled around one another and whirled in the furnace in a hypnotizing dance.

“It’s been a long time since the fire activated so easily.” Ichigo sounded resigned. “Do not disturb me while I’m working, you can go and rest there.”

Grimmjow didn’t know where _there_ was, but the vessels of the mountain guided him. The lines in the soil sent threads of pulsating orange light which brought him to a hidden corner; stacks of clothes and blankets cladded the stone, making it comfortable enough for someone whose skin didn’t have scales. Yet, when Grimmjow leaned down, his sword close to him, he felt something coarse under the fingers: a brownish scale, a dried copy of the gleaming covering parts of the skin of the blacksmith.

The fire was gurgling in the distance, singing a warm lullaby numbing his muscles and mind. Grimmjow heard in the distance the metallic clangs of iron against iron. His sword was been forged, his arm was coming back to him in a new shape. And his revenge looked so deliciously close.

Grimmjow closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he didn’t know how much time had passed. The firelight decreased in intensity, creating long sinister shadows. It was purring in crackles of crisping leaves and dry logs, sending the smell of autumn chestnuts and burning ashes.

A light over him. It was Ichigo.

Grimmjow hadn’t noticed before how his eyes were gleaming of a golden glimmer, and his fangs were those of a wild -beautiful- animal. He was naked and a long tail swung from his back. Had it been another circumstance, or another creature, Grimmjow would have probably noticed his presence earlier and refused to remain still under his touch. There was something in that cave that crawled inside him and soothed his stormy spirit. He was defenseless and didn’t even try to stop Ichigo’s hands slithering under his clothes.

There were no human kisses on the skin, nor tender touches to awaken the desire. All of Grimmjow’s feelings were blurred, he was basking in a state of rest, yet he knew he was enjoying Ichigo riding him. He moved up and down, clawing at his chest in a slow waving of his whole body.

It was mesmerizing, fire embodied in a living being, devouring all that stepped into his path. Grimmjow wanted to touch him, wanted to turn him around, press his head against the harsh stone, thrust inside his body with all the strength he had and turn his low growls into loud moans, twist his concentrated face in a mask of pleasure. The idea made him turn his head around as he groaned, or maybe it was just because Ichigo unexpectedly changed his pace. Grimmjow didn’t really know.

He would get angry later, he told himself, but now he just wants to enjoy that blissed state he was brought into, and fill his eyes with the beautiful view of the blacksmith forging his own pleasure through him. He didn’t mind burning and become ashes like his arm if it was while being inside Ichigo’s scorching hot body.

***

“Good morning.”

Grimmjow didn’t know if it was morning, nor why Ichigo seemed surprise to see him awaken and walking on his own legs. Truth to be told, it had been a long time since the last he felt so refreshed after sleeping. He always woke up with many signs of weariness already stinging his stiff muscles and his mind filled with worries and anger whirling around to set his mood. Grimmjow felt at peace, his body regenerated, his mind at ease. It was almost strange not having anything to be mad at – he still had plenty of things and people that made his blood boil, but for the first time, Grimmjow didn’t mind any of those things. He just wondered if it was because of Ichigo. He didn’t need any effort for his body to recall the sensation of his rough tongue on his skin and his callous hands touching him.

“You got up early.”

Grimmjow got closer and saw it. A newly forged sword, a katana reflecting the peaceful waves of the burning fire; blue and silver, still fuming with the heat of the furnace. Grimmjow wrapped his fingers around the hilt. His arm was back, the part he lost returned in a new shape, He felt it under the tips of the fingers, spreading through his body and making a single victorious thought: his power was back.

“How much?”

Ichigo shook his head at Grimmjow who put the sword down to reach for the bag of gold coins hanging from one of his belts. “I just want to see it at work.”

A bizarre request, but Grimmjow was a fast learner and he understood that the blacksmith didn’t reason like the people living _down there_ , and probably didn’t treasure gold as much as legends told about dragons – gold hoarders never sated of what they had, his mother pointed telling him goodnight stories, so he’d always better keep his mouth shut on the whereabouts of his savings.

Both wanted to see the potential of that blade, so there was no reason to deny such request. Grimmjow took the sword back, and he was sure he felt it vibrating, as if it was happy to be back to the place it belonged to.

There was a bizarre creature curled on one of the stones, its eyes closed; a small lizard with small dragonfly wings and the head seemingly of a rabbit, but with wolf’s ears, something Grimmjow had never seen before. A perfect target for a demonstration.

Grimmjow sliced the air in half, a whirl followed the invisible blade of wind the swing of his blade created. It hit the creature.

“Mh…” Grimmjow inspected the blade. “Not bad at all.”

Ichigo frowned, his eyebrows contracted in an annoyed expression, his arms crossed. He was looking at the dusty spot where the bizarre creature was resting.

“Rukia.” He sounded pissed off. “You stole the orichalcum again, didn’t you? I told you many times–” From the cloud of dust, a little ball of fur and scales, without a single scratch, dashed away; it zigzagged through the rocks and disappeared, leaving Ichigo’s words hanging in a groan of frustration. “I’m gonna throw you into the furnace next time! You heard–”

A blade swished near his head, touching the hair without slicing a single one, as it should happen. Ichigo’s face lost all the signs of irritation which made him more human and darkened into a serious mask as he stared back at Grimmjow. If glares could kill, Ichigo thought, he would be dead already. But he expected that reaction.

“What have you done?” Grimmjow’s voice leaked rage. “This sword is–”

“What your arm was meant to be turned into.” Ichigo grunted, crossed his arms again, and his face showed once more some human irritation. “Everyone comes here asking for some powerful weapons. All I can do is turning what people bring me into what it’s meant to be.”

“You are saying that I’m an uncapable weakling who cannot even kill your freaking pet lizard?!”

“Rukia’s not a lizard. She’s a chimera and she’s not my pet. She’s a freeloader who steals all my orichalcum.” Ichigo looked outraged by the idea someone could think he chose Rukia to live with him. “And that’s not what I meant! Do you even listen to people?!”

“You told my arm could only be turned into a useless weapon!”

“You are saying it’s useless! I said I turned into what was meant to be!”

The desire of piercing the flesh of the dragon and see if that sword was useless for real was burning Grimmjow’s guts. Yet, as Ichigo tended his arm with the palm wide opened, waiting for him to give him something, the surprise of that unexpected reaction cooled him down enough to control his savage instincts.

“What?”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. “Leave the sword here. It’s useless, according to your standards, isn’t it? That sword cannot kill, it can just be used to–”

“Shut the fuck up.” Grimmjow took some steps away from him. His eyes fell on the rock where the chimera was sleeping, untouched by his wrath as the creature was. “I’ll figure out the use of this sword myself.” Grimmjow wrinkled his nose. “Hey, don’t you give a scabbard with it? Or should I pay the difference?”

Ichigo fell speechless. His eyes were wide opened and filled with bewilderment. Slowly, he crouched to pull a piece of rock from a bigger one, he ripped it as easily as a human would pull a piece of bread. The cracking sounds of his hand clenching around it were similar of shattered bones.

Like a magic trick where the container apparently was bigger in the inside, Ichigo pulled from inside his fist a long blue scabbard of the exact size of the katana. Grimmjow grabbed it from his hands and tied it to his side, sheathing the sword.

“What’s the name?”

“Grimmjow.”

“You named the sword like you?”

Grimmjow growled. “Be clearer!” He glanced down: the weight wasn’t uncomfortable at all. “…Pantera.” He turned around to walk all the way back out of the heart of the mountain. Grimmjow didn’t turn back even once.

***

Ichigo was sitting on the top of the highest rock, towering on the sword cemetery he built with the help of the countless customers who survived the mountain and reached his cave. Request after request, sword after sword, he pierced them all on the ground, standing in a silent and eternal grieving. Every single customer wasn’t satisfied with what their swords were meant to be and abandoned them. Ichigo heard their laments and cries, and the only thing he could do to soothe them was hoarding them and sheathe their spirits into the burning soil. After many decades, not only the swords he forged, but also the swords abandoned in battles, old rusty swords deemed not worthy anymore, swords whose design didn’t satisfy spoiled royalty.

Many other dragons hoarded gold, diamonds and jewels. Ichigo hoarded swords, his passion and curse.

Yet, after more than one hundred years he spent seeing humans throwing part of their souls like old useless objects, he witnessed something new for once. Grimmjow brought his sword back with him. He despised it, he hoped it could be a powerful instrument of destruction but didn’t abandon it. He declared he would discover what use he could carve out of it.

Ichigo wondered if that was true and if he wouldn’t give up on his quest. But Grimmjow didn’t abandon part of him, that was a fact.

Rukia , who was lazily resting next to him, raised her fluffy head and noticed how Ichigo’s brown eyes turned yellow. She put the head back on her paws and yawned.

Ichigo’s inhuman grin split his face in two. Maybe he found an unusual piece to chase and add to his collection.

**Author's Note:**

> I may have a thing for evil Ichigo.


End file.
